


Darling So It Goes

by glindas_home



Series: Take My Hand [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), The Voice (Ireland) RPF
Genre: Big Dicks, Cis! Girl Zayn too if you squint, F/M, Hickeys, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Suffering, Wedding Night, cis!girl Niall, hetero married sex, ringerbanging, so many hickeys, vlog direction, warning for hetero marrieds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:17:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1788559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glindas_home/pseuds/glindas_home
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't resist looking down at her. The gold band on his finger is gleaming with her come. </p><p>Niall and Bressie finally get married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darling So It Goes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rave/gifts).



> This started with a single sentence from beautiful monster-angel Rave Shashayed over on tumblr, while she was casting Ashley Benson as cis!girl Niall for her vlog direction brainchild. AND IT EXPLODED.  
> JUST SO U KNOW:   
> Niall is a vlogger and Bressie is her live-in tech luddite hubby. Bressie and Niall met in college at a wilderness orientation, where Niall played songs around a campfire on her guitar. Their first real date was at a carnival where Bressie didn't fit on the ferris wheel, and their first dance at their wedding was to " I Can't Help (Falling In Love With You)", by Elvis OBVIOUSLY.  
>  Niall's BFF beauty blogger XOXO Zayna forced her to wear a real-person wedding dress, instead of something from Marshall's. Bressie did all the color coordinating for the wedding, and worried that getting claddagh rings was too cheesy. Niall has like, a DISASTROUSLY epic hen party, which leaves the entire town hung over for about a week. Their sex tape is on vcr b/c Bressie fears the internet. AT SOME POINT THEY HAVE TWINS. 
> 
> my end of this HIDEOUS MONSTER is not published, as I live in a den of shame, but you can check out most of it at rave's tumblr to give you more context, if you want to spend every day as we do, rending our hair and garments in agony.  
> http://sashayed.tumblr.com/tagged/VLOG-DIRECTION

Bressie’s always been the type of boy who thought a lot about his wedding. He made his sister pretend to marry him when he was six, planned out all the details proper, even made her a corsage from a teddy bear scrunchie. His mum has the pictures -- actually, she gave them to Niall, his Niall, just a few hours ago. After the ceremony.

When he was thirteen he’d graduated up to thinking about his wedding night, absurdly dreaming of claddagh rings and white lace in Israel. It felt better to think about it that way, the burst of possessiveness that welled up in his throat when other boys looked at Aileen Summers the wrong way. Or the right way -- anyone looking at her, absurdly, that wasn’t him. It was better to think about it than to act on it. In his bed at night, they were married, and pretending she was his was less embarrassing. 

That was before and after his long talks with Laura. He knows he doesn’t own Niall now. Obviously. Obviously obviously, that’s crazy slave nonsense. He never thought of it like that, even when he was a kid. It was always just like -- he can’t explain it, not without seeming mad. Like the perfect promise. Nothing left uncertain. To have and to hold -- to hold, that’s all that exists anymore, those words, echoing round his head. To hold, to hold, to hold. 

His head’s gone blank. It’s been like that for the last two days or so, coming to a fever pitch when he got the fucking ring on her finger, when he could finally put his hands on the curve of her waist and taste her smile. He’d -- he can’t even say what he’d do for her, but he could easily make some lavish claims. Death, for example, comes to mind, even though they tried to cut most of that bit out of their vows. 

He can’t tell right and wrong apart. He could barely summon up any anxiety over telling his racist second aunt to piss off from Zayn. Even with his mum glaring at him, he just can’t -- he can’t think about anything except Niall, like his vision’s gone into a tunnel. He’d almost say he’s sick of it, they way it’s been, but he’s not. He’s the opposite of not. 

He’s a little bit tipsy and he’d make her her own record label just to feel the skin inside her wrist, but he doesn’t have to do any of that, because she wants him back. He just has to ask her, for now, forever. 

Right now she’s kicking back into the tiny B&B bed, toeing off her converse in a heap, propped up on her elbows. It seems like hours ago since they escaped the wedding party to drive off to their place for the night, buzz wearing off slowly in the backseat of the limo while the rice clattered outside. He’d curled around her while she nosed at his neck, making jokes about Aunt Niav, about Liam, about Harry dancing in that ridiculous floral suit. He barely remembered to say thank-you to the driver. He can’t remember anything but he remembers absolutely everything. He has to. Niall had made shocked eyebrows at him before he carried her in a fireman’s hold up the stairs at a sprint. 

“Niall?”  
“Hmm?” Niall tilts her soft cheek toward him as he looms over her a bit. He sits down on the bed beside her, stares her in.

“I’ve got to warn you, chief, I think this whole married thing has turned me into a right caveman,” he says, smiling at her. 

All his, curled up in a bed like so many times before. She wore her oldest tank top and track bottoms to the reception. The only difference from a week ago is the little fascinator on her head, and the ring around her finger. 

“Turned?” Niall says innocently. Her hair is twisted low on her neck, falling all over the place. The roots are starting to show. She’s pulled a big handbag onto the bed and starts yanking bags of crisps out of it. 

“Aw, fuck off love, seriously I--Nialler, did you pack snacks?” She turns a little pink, but rolls her eyes at him, clutching a loaf of bread protectively.

“What?” she says, “What? Like you’re surprised?” She drops onto the bed and pushes over to him, lowered onto all fours. Bressie mentally saves the image. “I plan on keeping us here for a good long time, head. We needed provisions.” 

“Oh, provisions?” He grins helplessly at her as she nods back, giggling, “Whatever for, I wonder?” His brain is on auto-pilot. 

Niall bites her lip, and he puts his hand around the back of her neck. Touching her is always inevitable: his fingers seeking her wrist, reaching out to flick her shoulder, picking her up so she can reach the top shelf. Now he’s cupping her head, Bressie’s favorite place to hold onto her, his fingers lost in cool sik. His thumb comes all the way around the side of her head, rubbing over the pulse in her neck. He can feel it jumping, familiar and erratic. 

“You know.” She pokes him indignantly. “For sex stuff. For all the sex we’re going to have. So I don’t get too hungry after the fifth time I blow y -- Hey!”

Bressie’s got Niall gathered on his lap, his arms wrapped around her, his face buried in her neck, nudging against the same pulse. He’s breathing open-mouthed on her shoulder while her arms immediately come up to twine around his neck. She’s a soft full weight in his lap. He doesn’t want to remember what it felt like, not knowing how she feels in his lap. He can’t remember -- like he got her close to him and everything that came before her was just lost time. Bressie can feel the knobs of her spine underneath his palm. 

It’s still for three melting minutes. Or maybe five seconds, Bressie’s not sure. They’ve got so much time now. A fucking lifetime. She’s stroking the fuzz on the back of his neck with a single calloused finger and he hums softly against her neck, breathing her in. She smells like soft sweat and beer, daisies and cotton. 

There’s something fierce in him, full of wonder and madness that’s coming up too quickly. It just gets worse when she shifts in his lap to open up her soft thighs. His fingers spasm unconsciously on her back and his mouth sinks open to suck roughly at the place where her neck joins her shoulder. Niall starts a giggle that turns into a soft moan halfway through.

“Gonna give me a hickey then? Mark me up?” she says a little breathlessly. He knows her, knows it’s meant to be a joke but his whole body turns white-hot at the idea, the shape of his mouth all over her neck, her back, her thighs. They haven’t done hickeys in a while, Niall’s on her video camera too often, Bressie’s on PR jobs too often, but now. Now. 

He pulls back to look at her. She stares back at him a little crossly, lips flicking in and out of her teeth. 

“Stop it, I need to talk to ya, that’s fuckin distracting.” He puts a thumb up to still her mouth and her plush lips open instinctively, sinking down over his hand, wetting him up. He’s fully hard in an instant, so hard it’s almost painful. She’s still wearing her tiny beaded veil. Her whole mouth is wet with spit. 

“Fuck!” Bressie breaths out, gathers himself, picks her up and moves her farther down his knees. “Fuck, Niall, I feel like I’m going mental, jesus – I --.” He runs out of words, wants to tell her, knows they’ve talked about it before, he needs to say something, he needs to --

She grabs his face. 

“Bres.” He exhales in a shudder. “Shh, you softie, it’s ok, shhhhhh. Just breathe.” His heart slams against his ribs once, twice, three times. Niall’s hands are on his chest, his face, his cheeks in soft feather-touches. His pulse calms down.

“Sorry, chief, I just --” He looks up at her a bit desperately. Bressie didn’t quite panic, stopped himself before it got bad, but he can still feel mad, can’t he? Just like -- of all the nights for him to panic, tonight is not it. Niall’s eyes are wet and kind.

“Shut the fuck up, you twat. I told you not to apologize for all that.” She presses a kiss to his mouth, soft and wet and open. Somewhere in the halls of the bed and breakfast, a door slams. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you proper, you softie,” Niall whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “What’d ya want to say, then?”

He’s too big for the bed. The windows are black outside, Irish fog blotting out all the moon and stars. The light in the room comes from 70’s crystal light fixtures, and Niall’s hair. 

They’re both still fully clothed but he can feel the heat from her coming through her tracksuit bottoms, and he shudders, kisses her fiercely, prising her lips apart, steaming into her cherry mouth. She’s gasping a bit, presses down onto his thigh and he barely resists moving her over his dick, getting her soft weight right there. Bressie wants this to last though. Actually, he never wants it to be over. He suckles at her lower lip, the softest damn thing Bressie’s ever felt, tugging and tugging until he can move back up to breathe in her soft, unconscious noises. She slides her tongue into his mouth, slippery as his hands catch on her round little arse. God, her ass, just the right size for his hands, clenching her up in a mewl as he kneads the muscle. He’s heated, and he’s unworthy, and he’s proud. 

She pulls away at last, biting softly at his chin. “Really though, Bres, what is it?” He slips his hands up under her tank, thumbing at the crest of her belly. She flinches and pulls back, looking stern.

“Bre-ez,” she whines, grabbing his face so she can stare at him up close, like they always do. She presses their heads together until all he can see is one big blue eye. “Wanda wants to knowwww.”

Wanda is the name for the eye. Wanda sees all. Wanda is serious business. 

He shrugs, and he doesn’t know how to say what he’s thinking without sounding like a skin-coat wearing dickhead, what the fuck, he can’t, it’s all going to go tits-up, but he promised that he’d always tell her about his panic attacks after each one. He’d promised. It was one of their first rules, way back two years in, and her eyes are still smily when she looks at him. He trusts Niall so much. She’s rubbing her neck over the place where he started biting at her warm skin. 

He takes her wrist and whispers it in there, to the velvety part where he can see her veins. “I feel like, I don’t want to feel like I own you -- no, shut up, that’s fucked up, that’s not what I mean -- I just --” He looks up at her, hopelessly, “You know how I feel about marriage, and I feel like it changes stuff.”

“Yeah, Head, I heard that somewhere.” He still feels hopeless, but she looks like she’s restraining giggles, her eyes crinkling. Niall know him best. It’ll be ok. He knows Niall the best, but he just needs to figure out how to explain it. He knows it when he gets ape-ish, her words, not his. But isn’t it different now? They haven’t even talked about name changes, Bressie wants no part in that, never had, but now that they’re married -- isn’t it supposed to be different? He just needs Niall to understand. Once Niall understands him everything always falls into place. 

“You know, I know you’re not mine, but I just -- we’re us now, we’re together -- fuck, Niall, I want everyone to know you’re mine, you’re – and it goes both ways, I just want nobody to ever doubt you’re my chief, that you’re -- oh shut it, jesus.”

She bites her lip. She’s full out giggling, her breasts shaking against his chest. “I’m sorry, was the binding ceremony and large ring not enough for you? Want me in a collar with a little tag?”

He growls and nips her lips, shifts her warm body under him until he’s balanced over her on the too-small bed. Bressie could swear they paid extra money to make sure his toes wouldn’t be dangling off the end. “Wouldn’t object, but I was thinking of something less formal, to be honest Chief.” 

Beneath him, he can see the moment when Niall’s eyes turn dark, hear when her breath hitches. He draws in a breath through his nose. “Do you want everyone to know too? You want the same thing, want me to mark you up?” 

She squeaks out a little moan, nods shakily as he smooths her hair out from under her head, careful not to trap it. His voice is low. He just keeps talking. 

“God, Niall, I want to mark you up so bad, I want you walking sideways tomorrow, I want your -- your whole body just laid out under my mouth, I, I want to whole hotel to know it.” Now that he’s started it’s just pouring out of him, like it always does. It’s like she cracks him open and he just can’t help telling her everything. Somehow, she even likes him for it. 

She stiffens, and he freezes in response, hand at her wrist.

“Chief?” he looks at her, her little mouth open, and smiles. Her thighs are open to bracket his hips, and he can feel the bed shift as her stomach tenses. Her hips rise up of the bed to meet his, seeking, still wearing those fucking trackie bottoms, top ridden up to show her smooth stomach. “Chief, you ok?”

“Don’t you fucking stop talking, don’t you fucking dare, I swear to god Bressie, I will drink all the beer I packed, and there will be none for you, you had better feckin follow through with these claims, Head --”

He ducks his head, smiling helplessly under the veil of her hair as he pushes her top up, fingers pushing under her bra. She lifts her arms up obediently, reaching up to dislodge the veil. Something jumps low in his stomach, and he reaches suddenly to still her hand. “Leave the veil on, Chief.” 

Niall glares up at him. “Do you think I care about the veil,” she says flatly “Do whatever with the veil, I want you to take my clothes off and go down on me like you’re dying. Was that not clear.” 

He groans, laughing, rock hard at the idea of getting her mouth on her pussy -- his pussy, his Niall’s pussy -- pulling her shirt off in big yanks, fabric rending until it’s off, and then he freezes, staring down at her from where he’s straddling her hips with his knees. 

“What the hell is that, Nialler?” he manages to choke out. She’s covered in sheer white mesh with clean lines, nipples peaking up through, plain as day. Everything about her is white and soft, the swells of her tits blushing pink as she breathes.  
She looks slightly embarrassed for the first time in several years. “I just wanted to wear me sports bra, but Zayn insisted, you know how she gets.”

“God bless Zayn,” he says fervently, “Did she pick it out for you? I mean did she help you buy it?”

What he means is: did Zayn help him into it. Did other-wordly Zayn smooth out the bra straps for his impossibly-perfect Niall. Were pictures taken. Niall swats him on the head. He mostly notices her breasts bouncing. 

“Oi, you old perv, yes she did, and then we had a pillow fight with our bits hanging out, you should have been there.” He starts laughing helplessly into her cleavage, five o’clock shadow rasping against lovely skin. 

“I’m sorry, can I just, can I just have a second to picture that, or is that fetishization of lesbians and female bodies, it is, isn’t it, why would you tell me that. Actually, why do I talk to Harry --” She cuts him off by pulling him into a kiss. His heart’s still thumping. She pushes at his dress shirt, yanking at the buttons. 

“Off, off, stop talking about Zayn, I want this off, what is wrong with you,” Niall hisses at him, small hands sliding up Bressie’s torso. His stomach contracts at her cold fingers and she hums happily, the tips of her nails tracing the line down the middle of his stomach. He wants to feel her skin on his, warm her up. Mostly he wants to taste her on the flat of his tongue, everywhere. He’s been waiting to touch her thoroughly for hours, ever since she walked down the aisle. 

Now he gets to. He’s lucky enough to be able to feel her with his teeth and his tongue, he’s the lucky man. This is the night he thought about when he was thirteen and competitive and an idiot, dreaming in sweaty sheets about someone he could hold onto with confidence. He could never imagine Niall though. 

He’s going to taste her absolutely everywhere; taste her until she’s thoroughly wet, her skin hot and blushing, her hands clenching, until she’s begging, until there’s nothing left for her to do but come and come and come against his tongue and his cock. If that’s what she wants. He’ll give her anything she wants. 

Right. He scoots back down Niall’s body, hooking his fingers in the edge of her trackies as he goes, lifting her with a hand to the small of her back so he can pull them off. Niall’s fallen back on the bed, happy smile on her face. She seems boneless, her throat bared. 

Bressie knows she trusts him, he’s known it since they did trust-falls during orientation week and he’d caught her every time, even after they’d stopped the game and she fell over a rock. He’s hit with it all over again, in a rush, seeing her lying there, breasts flushed, cheeks flushed, trusting him. Now that they’re married -- just, fucking married. He gets a sudden flash to their first time, when she pulled him into her dorm room while Harry was out. It had smelled of musty socks and pineapple febreeze, and she’d crawled straight up his body as soon as the door was closed. She was so stern. “I’ve been waiting for feckin ever, Head, if you moved any slower you’d be goin’ in reverse.”

She says something to about the same effect now, although she’s smiling. That’s his Niall: always cheerful, rarely patient. She props herself up so she can look at him. Now that her trousers are off he can see that her pants match her bra, a soft dark triangle caught between her thighs. She’s watching him as he looks, smiling and opening her legs in a challenge, confidently tucking her hair behind her ear as he drinks her in. Her cunt’s soaked through the white mesh. He groans, puts a hand to himself, pushes down. 

“So are you going to like, get to it then? D’ya want me to tip first?” She mimes throwing off singles at him and he smiles and ducks his head. His face hurts from smiling. He pulls his shirt over his head, popping a few buttons, struck by the sudden urgency to kiss her, immediately. 

“That’s the money shot. Hello, sailor,” says Niall from the bed, biting her lip. Her eyelids fall heavy as she gazes at him. He can’t imagine what he’s done to deserve her looking at him like that. Her eyes are bright, they’re always bright. 

He kneels at the edge of the bed, tugs her towards him by her legs. His hands look gigantic, engulfing the skinny circle of her ankle. He can smell her now, damp and tangy and so close to his mouth. He palms her calves, bringing her knees up, kneading into the muscles so she moans. He can’t wait. 

“Is that all right? Feel good, darlin' girl?” Bressie’s voice is hoarse, and she won’t stop shifting her hips against the bed. She’s still barely covered in the transparent white mesh. It reminds him of the weave of a football goal. He presses a brief kiss to the inside of her knee, and she rolls her head to the side to look down at him. It shows off the place on her shoulder where he bit down earlier, swollen and purple, and his whole body goes numb. He feels light headed. 

“You don’t -- I’ll never be able to tell you, Chief, what you do --” He lunges back down, head swimming with it, hands palming at her hips, running his mouth over the center of her pussy, sucking her in. He babbles into the crease of her thigh. He’s so aware of her around him, everywhere. “I need, to, Niall, I need to know if you want me to, if I can just like, go for it. I don’t know if you’re ok with me just --” His fingers dig into the meat of her hips, and she gasps, pushes into his grip. 

“Acting like an ape? Giving me a thousand hickeys? Telling me how it’s going to be?” Her voice is shaky and impatient. It’s his favorite sound in the world. “Head, if I didn’t like how you were in the sack, I’d have thought a lot harder about marrying you, I swear to god, you’re a fuckin’ consent monster.” Niall continues, sitting up and running a hand down his side, tickling lightly. He squirms away from her fingers. 

“Besides,” she says, reaching around to cup his ass as best she can and grinning like a cat, “I remember you didn’t mind it all that much that one time the tables were turned. Well, not just the one time, all the other times too, but that one in particular, you know.” She breathes out through her pink lips, just like sunshine. 

Bressie flushes a bit, his hips instinctively pushing back into her small hands. He does see her point. His head drops onto the little slope of her shoulder. God, he’s wanted this for so long. Just to have her. To have everyone know it. He wants her to say it. He wants to hear her moan it. 

“I just don’t want us being married to change how we are together-- how, how I feel to you.” he whispers, feeling small, “And this is supposed to be our perfect night. However you want it, whatever you want --”

He’s been asking her what she wants since forever, knows she hates it and loves it. He never had much trouble getting her to ask for what she wants, but she was always so impatient with him stopping, sitting back, putting his hands and mouth in her in a thousand different places to check her reaction. One day asking and receiving just became much less uncomfortable. Niall always tries to ask him back. 

She’s gotten him to ask for stuff before, but it’s not quite the same, even when they’re asking about the same thing. Bressie muttered low in his throat that he’d want to come on her chest and it was all right, like, nothing involving Niall’s chest could be bad. But when she asked for it, face tucked into his armpit, eyes luminous, his throat closed up. He’d been over her on his knees before he knew what he was doing as she muttered, “yes, yeah, jaysus,” tongue dragging over her mouth with her fingers deep in her cunt. It was embarrassing how little time it took until they both collapsed, heaving open-mouthed into the bed, his body slumped over hers. His come shining on her skin.

It’s different for both of them when Niall asks, blunt and questioning. He just wants to make her feel good. He just wants to know that she feels good. 

He looks at her, sitting on the bed from here he’s crouched on the floor between her thighs. They’re about the same height, with her perched above him and Bressie folded in half. She looks like a proper bride, in her white underwear and little veil. Or a not so proper bride, whatever. The veil’s crooked now, her lips swollen up and her eyes dark. She’s like a punch in the gut. Niall sticks her tongue at him, pink and slick and teasing. Her full breasts are stretching out that fucking white mesh. He can still smell her, and he’s going to die of it in this dinky bed and breakfast, die of her, his whole mind dumb and blank with how much he loves her. 

“Love you, Chief.” Niall smiles lazily, pets his head, pushing it back a bit as he leans into the touch. 

“Love you, Head.” He takes her calves in his hands again, reveling in how little she seems against him.  
“I’m going to take you apart, darlin’.” Niall hums happily, wiggling and compliant. He lowers her back down, runs what little nails he has down the back of her knee. Niall’s so soft. He moves forward to kiss her, open mouthed, body cradled in her thighs. They’re splayed right open to fit him, her hot wet center flush against his stomach. She’s slippery. He knows he probably moans but doesn’t quite process it. He can’t help rolling his hips down. She’s panting in his ear, clutching his head as he moves back to her neck, scraping his teeth down bluntly, brutally. 

“Fuck you, you asshole -- Bressie, god” He sucks under her collarbones, unrelenting, feeling her skin puff up under his lips, the scrape of his chin. Niall bucks her hips up frantically into his upper stomach, and he pins them down with one big hand. 

She’s got a high whine in her voice, her mouth slack. “Bressie, come onn -- god,” and he pushes her hips down harder, stilling her. The room feels stifling, like it hasn’t got any air suddenly. He shifts his weight to pin her hips with the weight of his body, takes her wrists in his hands, rubbing soothingly up the center how he knows she likes. Her eyes are dazed. He bites her again, just at her jawline.

“Shh, love, not yet-- love you, Niall, love you.” He presses the words into her lips, her heaving chest. He gets his mouth on the swell of her breast, cupping soft skin with his lips. She lets out a strange little sound, halfway between a moan and a sob. Her hips twitch convulsively under him. He moves his way over her neck and chest, slowly, carefully. It feels like being dunked in and out of cold and hot water. He has no idea how long it’s been, he just keeps going, almost aching from being hard. It’s like he’s got a fever. Every time he takes his mouth off her the room stills as he pulls back to look at her. She’s covered in goosebumps, lip swollen from biting, eyebrows screwed up in pleasure. He gives her five fast little bites, sharp and stinging, and lays in a long, slow one right between her breasts. Niall cries out. 

He sucks another mark into the underside of her breast, where she’s soft and white and full, and she rubs her pussy up against him despite his weight, back arched. She’s so wet. 

“Look at you. You’re perfect, Chief, so good for me.” Niall makes a small pleading sound in the back of her throat that goes straight to his cock. She’s blushing down to her stomach. She’s panting, just like him. 

“Just for me, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” she whispers, staring right at him. 

When he goes back down to suck again at the peaches and cream of her skin, her body rocks in on itself, flushing instantly. Niall tastes sharp and sweet, like her sweat. His mouth is numb and aching from pulling at her. He catches one of her nipples into his mouth, pulls and pulls at his with his teeth as she squirms under him, rolling her head to the side to tuck into the pillow, mouth lolling open in a soundless moan. Niall’s so sensitive there.  
“Is that all right, Chief?” She makes another small cry, low and hoarse in her throat, pushing her face against the pillow. She’s got small tears beaded in the corners of her eyes, her hair stuck to her face with sweat. Bressie rubs around one of the marks starting to show along her chest, soothing and grounding. He cradles her face in one of his palms, turning her head toward him. 

“Look at me, chief.” Her eyes slant up at him, devious, and she turns her head to suck a kiss into the meat of his hand. “You all right? Feel good, yeah?” 

Niall nods slightly, still trying to push her hips into him, get some sort of friction. She gets quiet sometimes, nothing but gasps and her big eyes staring up at him. 

“Please, Bressie – I --” He kisses her under her jaw, presses a thumb into one of the bruises, and she cuts off with a loud groan and a gasp, stomach taut and tense, fluttering. He’s being sucked into a tide. He’s going to make her feel so good. 

“What, Chief, tell me,” Bressie rasps out. Niall’s skin is so pink. Bressie can see the shape of his mouth blooming in purple all down her front. He’s lucky he can still hold her head up to support her neck, Christ. It would be such a waste to just push his hips into her, fuck down until he comes into his briefs, but Bressie can barely hold it in. Niall’s ring is glinting from where he’s holding onto her wrist and her eyes, her fucking eyes are just as bright. God, but she’s perfect, he thinks desperately. 

Niall tugs at him restlessly, eyes full of a challenge as she tries to guide his hand between her legs, right where she wants it. He lets her lead. Her nails scratch against his big wrist. 

“There, Bres, I want you there – fuck -- right there, in my cunt,” He closes his eyes on a groan as his fingers brush her lips. She’s so slick and hot. He can feel the heat before he touches her, flicks a thumb through the wetness gathered up there. Bressie can’t help himself trembling. His muscles have been tensed with control for so long. His cock’s leaking as he traps his hand between their bodies to touch her. 

“Mm -- ah, yeah, Bressie -- but don’t -- ” Niall rocks up into him on the word, rolls her body against him in a long feline push that has him biting down on the inside of his cheek and swearing. “Don’t stop sucking me, Christ.”

Niall’s voice is like syrup, drunk and sweet as he runs his thumb through her folds, slow and maddening. His thumbnail just barely catches on her entrance and she chokes, chases it with her hips. Bressie pushes the damp hair out of her eyes. 

“Sucking you, Chief? You like it when I get my mouth on you? Want me to write my name on you in my bruises?” Her eyes sink shut as he babbles, a high whine pushing out of her as Bressie moves his hand away from her center. He moves farther down the bed, ducking his head to press one long, sucking kiss to her cunt through the mesh before he pulls her knickers off. Niall tastes so good, gooey on his tongue. Bressie didn’t mean to, wanted to build up to it more and make her wait but he just -- she tastes so good, musky and clean. She squeaks as he pulls away. 

“Not yet, Chief. Soon, I promise, just a bit --” Bressie cages her hips with his hands to hold her down while he sucks another bite into her stomach. She curls up around his mouth, shaking.

“Just a bit more, love,” he gasps out. She’s making noises with every press of his teeth now, legs scrabbling up around his sides and pushing at his waist, hands gripped tight in his hair. 

“You fucking-” Bressie grins into her stomach, rubs his chin along the top of one of the bites. She hisses and her hands dig into his hair. “Bres, please, I feel like I’m on fire, sweet jaysus --”

He moans into the soft peak of her stomach. He’s rubbing circles into her hips with his thumbs, he dips his tongue into her belly button. He can feel the soft pulse of Niall’s heart there, in her stomach, through one of the blossoming bruises. 

“I’m not done, Chief.” Bressie moves up to look at her as he says it. “I told you, love. I’m going to take you apart.” One day, six years from now, they’ll do this all over again. It’ll be their anniversary. They’re going to do this seventy years from now, when they’re all shriveled and saggy. 

“We’re going to do this on 80th anniversary too,” He tells her as he sucks a bruise into the crease of her hip. “I don’t care how saggy we both are.”

“Oh my god, I hate you soo much, shut upp, shut up,” Niall says, pushing at his shoulders. Bressie drags his teeth along the front of her, down the soft trail of peach fuzz. Niall’s voice is raspy with gasping. He wants to engulf her, press her into him, make her feel just as good as she makes him feel. Bressie presses into her hips, mouth hard as he sucks relentlessly right above her pussy. He can hear her chanting above him, something that sounds like “oh god, oh god, oh god,” as Niall’s hips shake, trying to get out and away from his mouth while pushing right back into it. 

“God -- love you --” Bressie hears her choke out, her voice breaking on a small sob. He keeps his mouth anchored there, immoveable. Her thighs are quaking, and he’s not sure how much longer he can do this without snapping and just plunging into her, over and over. 

“How do you want it?” he murmurs, going right back to pulling a bruise from her while he waits for her answer. “What do you want, Chief?”

“What?” She gasps down at him, “Shut up, I just want you to fucking touch me, shut up, it’s like I’m dying. Why won’t you touch me. ”

Bressie pulls off her with a soft unsticking sound, his spit shiny on the place where her skin is starting to turn purple. He presses a thumb right down on the bruise, dives his head into her dripping pussy. 

He’s eaten Niall out on their sofa, in that first dorm room, in a tiny shower, holding her up against the tiles. He ate her out in his dreams before they got together, over the side of their kitchen table -- once, horrifically, in the back of Zayn’s car. Bressie’s never eaten her out as his wife. A thrill runs through him up from his toes. He’s an old fashioned son of a bitch. 

“Tell me whose this is,” he mutters as he spreads her cheeks with both his hands, feeling dark and sick and elated. He noses at her slit, tonguing once against her hood. “Tell me, Niall.”

He doesn’t expect her to laugh, shaky and helpless and bright. He should feel embarrassed, but he doesn’t. He smiles into her thigh as she giggles, running her nails over his scalp. It’s possible she knows him a little too well. 

“Yours,” Niall whispers. Bressie moans right into her cunt. His face is sloppy and he wants to inhale her. It’s been his fantasy since day one, since he was thirteen. It’s stupid and a little awful and Niall’s been pulling it out of him in bits, whispering, “it’s ok, I like it” into his neck. It’s been happening for years and he never even noticed. He feels like a lightning rod, like a rabid dog. 

“Say it again,” he whispers, biting at her clit, sucking her lips into his mouth. Her stomach flutters as she cries out. Bressie sucks harder at her, his thumb a dead weight on her clit, a constant burning pressure. “Say it again, Chief.” 

“God – jaysus -- ah, Bressie --” Niall’s voice is ragged. Bressie puts a hand on himself again, squeezing down to take the edge off of his urgency. He’s working her over, dragging her wetness up with his tongue and stuffing it back into her. Her candy-heart pussy is swollen and glowing. She’s so good for him. “Yours,” Niall says, “yours, yours --”

He loses it at the sound. He can’t breathe, the words a jumble in his head. To hold, your, yours, yours to hold, yours to have and to hold. Yours. There’s dark flushing patches all over Niall’s flawless skin, knots and sweat in her golden hair. She’s like nothing he’s ever seen. 

He sinks a thick finger into her and she moans sharply, sinks her hips down onto him instantly. It’s her, it’s all her, just Niall, sucking him in, desperate for him. His. So tight and hot around him. He needs to loosen her up more still before he can get in her. 

“C’mon, Chief. Come for me” Bressie can’t quite recognize his own voice. The sounds of wetness and panting and wrenching sheets are all that he can hear. He crooks his finger inside of her, thumb still bearing down on her clit. He has a ring on his hand. 

“Love you, babe, so much, gonna make you come for me, gonna make you – make you cry from it before I put you back together.”  
“Hell yeah,” Niall breathes, face blissed out and open. 

Bressie picks her hips up with one hand to get a better angle and adds another finger. She barely weighs anything, back arched under his palm. He’s transfixed by the sight of his thick fingers moving in and out of her, hugged in by her tight pink hole. He spits down at them, a long line from his lips to her cunt so that she’s nothing but wet. Niall’s pussy is pulsing and squeezing around where he’s moving his hand into her. 

“Yeah, princess, you like that?” he grinds out, pushing restlessly at his dick. Niall squeaks faintly, her round hips moving as best they can from where he’s holding her. He knows he’s being greedy but he wants to hear it -- “Say it again, Niall.”

“Yours, yeah, yours – Bressie --” The noises she makes after she chokes out the words are beyond delicious, and he speeds up his fingers, adds a third. He leans down, catches her wrist and latches right onto her pulse point, licking the skin before settling down on it. His fingers look so solid against Niall’s freckly arm.

“Do it -- God, again, Head – please --” Niall’s eyes are wild. Her free hand is digging into his shoulder. Her eyes are screwed shut, her little nose wrinkled. 

“Not yet, Chief.” He has an idea that runs through him like lightning, and he switches hands smoothly, trying despite himself to keep Niall as still as possible. His gold ring moves through the dark red skin of her lips and she whimpers at the sudden touch of the cool metal. To have. 

Bressie bends down to press his tongue flat and broad against her. Her pussy is welcoming, succulent under his tongue. Jesus, but he loves getting Niall in his mouth. He traces her entrance a few times while he suckles at her clit. He won’t push back in yet, not until she’s closer. He rubs at the bruise by her hipbone and pulls at her clit gently with his teeth. His nose is pressed flat against her curls and the silky skin of her pussy smells rich. He teases his wedding band over her entrance once, twice. She humps desperately at his face, smearing him with spit and sweetness. 

“Hnn -- Brez, jesus --” The ring pops slightly against her as it goes in. Niall’s whole body jerks. 

“Bressie – Bres -- merciful Christ -- I’m gonna – gonna --” Niall can’t quite finish it, her head falling back as her whole body tightens in a bow, breasts falling heavy on her chest. He stares down at her from here he’s suckling at her clit. His name on her mouth is the best thing he’s ever heard. He can’t quite see her from his angle, just the curve of her stomach and her pussy, nothing but her cunt and her thighs around his face as she quakes. Niall’s breathing is broken up, and her hands convulse as she lets out a low moan that seems to go on and on. Her pussy flutters around his fingers as she falls into it, jerking her hips up again and again and again. Bressie lets out a long, tight breath through his nose.

“That’s it, Chief. That’s it.” He rubs his hand down the long line of her spine. Niall’s gasping as he lowers her gently back down onto the bed. “I’ve got you.” He can’t resist looking down as he pulls his fingers from her. The gold band on his finger is gleaming with her come. Her pretty cunt and her thighs squeeze inward to trap his hand and keep him there, nestled in her heat. She lets out a whimper.

“No -- stay, just stay --” Niall whispers. Her eyelashes are glued together with sweat and tears, her expression dazed. Her hand pets at Bressie’s arm. Niall always likes to cuddle after she comes, not generally one for multiple rounds in one go. But it’s their night, their one wedding night. It’s going to be -- he wants it to be -- no, he hopes it will be the best she’s ever had. He wants to erase his past selves until it’s just him, Bressie. Her husband. 

Bressie looks down. He’s still in his fucking boxer briefs. He doesn’t know whether he’s going to laugh or cry at himself. 

He looks up at Niall to catch her staring at him, a soft smile on her face. She looks hopelessly fond. Her hair is sticking up funny from her sweat and her hips are still moving with the aftershocks in sinuous rolls. The little veil is lying crushed on the bed above her, totally forgotten.

“Don’t worry Chief, m’going to fill you right back up,” He rasps. Niall lets out a noise that’s half laugh, half groan, her head flopping back onto the pillow with a thud, rolling her hips. “I mean,” Bressie continues, “If you want it? If you can take it?”

“hhhn,” Niall breathes out at him, glaring a little bit. He pulls himself over her and moves her chin to look at him. She looks the same way she looked after she rode the Whirlpool three times in a row during their first date at the carnival, like she’s stunned by lights and cotton candy and -- and him. 

“Chief? Can you take it?”

“yeah, I mean – fuck -- I guess,” Niall rasps, sounding somehow both wrecked and annoyed, “sure, all right, you know. For like, the sake of the team.”

“Shush”, he admonishes, trying to look stern. “I’m about to fucking explode here, have some sympathy.”

“Oh,” pants Niall, as he digs around for lube, “Oh, I’m so sorry, you must be suffering so much. Having to wait to come, can’t imagine what that’s like, must be sooooooo awful.”

Bressie puts a hand over her mouth and she licks at his palm like a kid would, but his whole body feels it. 

“Yes, thank you very much for your contribution. Quiet now while there’s still some mood left, thanks Chief.” He can hear her muffled giggles right up until he goes to slick himself up. It feels so fucking good to get a wet touch on his dick. His eyes sink closed for a second, just a second- he doesn’t want to miss looking at her unless he has to, but he’s fit to burst. He can still taste her on the inside of his mouth, for Christ’s sake, bitter and clear. 

Bressie jolts at the feeling of her hand on him, sliding under his to grip him. 

“Fuck -- ahh. Don’t do that, Chief, please --” he chokes out. It’s like all the blood in his body has gone to his cock. “Want this to last longer than that.”

Niall smiles lazily up at him from where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Her soft hand slips off him, but she ducks her head to press a kiss to the tip of his dick, velvet soft. Bressie can only see her curtain of golden hair falling into his lap. He swears reflexively. 

“Ok,” Niall says, her mouth lax. Her breasts are covered in sweat, and his bruises. She rubs a hand up his thigh, soothing. “Ok, it’s ok.”

He presses their foreheads together again and closes his eyes, lowering her back down on the bed with him over her this time. Niall’s thighs fall open. When he looks down to line himself up, he can still see her pussy and the round muscles in her thighs quivering. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him into her.

“You’re gonna have to take the lead on this one, Face, I don’t -- I’m still” She breaks off on a little frustrated noise, presses her open mouth to his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he says, and pushes into the tip of his dick into her. It’s slow and almost rough, and she’s so, so, tight. She’s pulsing around him instantly, her arms and mouth trembling in time with her cunt. It feels unbelievable. 

“Are you --” He chokes, drops his head onto her shoulder. He has to wait, wait for her. He gets his hand back to her clit and strokes his other hand on her neck, trying to loosen her up for him. “Are you good, can I -- fuck, Niall, fuck.”

“Yes, yeah,” Niall breathes out, tilting her hips up to take more of him in. “Bressie --” 

He flicks his thumb hard at her clit, a little unfocused, and she lets out a little scream, so over-sensitive to it, and her hips jerk, and just like that, he sinks into her. His mind is falling out of his body. 

“You feel so good, Chief -- you feel -- fuckin hell, better than anything.” He frames her face with his elbows and pulls himself out a bit, slams back into her. Her tits bounce and she gives him another ragged gasp. He kisses it off her. He flicks her clit again.  
“Yours,” Bressie grunts it out as he fucks in, her tight wet center pulling him like a magnet. “All for you, you’re so good for me -- greedy for it, yeah Niall --” 

Niall’s hands are white where they’re gripping his wrist and his shoulder. She’s making high-pitched, frantic noises in the back of her throat, pushing her tits into his chest. He feels dizzy from the hot grip of her pussy. He shifts his arms to pull her hips up into him and get some leverage, snapping his hips into her. 

“God -- I can’t – Bressie --” She whines it into his ear. He can feel her breath on his shoulder. It takes all the power in his body, but he stops moving. She lets out a wail, and tries to wriggle down onto his dick. He holds her still.

“You can’t?” He says, low, rubbing into the bruise on her neck. “Should I stop? Want me to stop, Chief?” He pushes back up into her, long and slow. She wails again, pushes at his shoulders with her hands. “It’s always your call, Chief. Tell me what you want.” 

Niall’s eyes close, and she lets out a helpless sound, her hips twisting back and forth around him. He almost bites the inside of his cheek off at the friction, hands spasming on her back where he’s holding her. 

“Yes,” she gasps, head turning restlessly. It’s enough. “Yes, I hate you. God, get back inside me, please --”

“Look at you,” he murmurs, pushing into her again. He gets one of his hands down, pushes at her clit in the same rhythm. “You’re gagging for it, even now.” Niall moans again, jerking her hips up into him faster. It looks like she mouths “yes” at him, but no sound comes out.

“Desperate for my dick, Chief – shit --” He stutters as she grinds her hips up on him, watching him with glassy eyes. “You’re --” He tries to continue, his voice fractured, “Niall --”

He can’t. He desperately, desperately, wants her to come again. Just once, before him, one more time. He wants to give her everything. She’s glowing under him, shuddering and over-sensitive and slack, her little mouth parted like a shell. He’s spent all his self-control. He’s just hoping, hoping he’s enough, pushing in desperately while he thumbs at the cleft of her pussy, the skin around her thighs slick and steaming. His finger slips and he can feel where his cock is driving into her, wet with her come. She’s bouncing deliciously, languidly from the force of his thrusts, bearing back on him when he tries to pull away, chasing him with her hips. He can feel a buzzing in his head and in his toes and slows down, hoping desperately to prolong it. 

“Bressie,” says Niall softly, curling a finger under his chin to guide him back to her, “Let it go.” He can hear himself grunt, close his eyes against the sensation of her squeezing at him.

“C’mon,” whispers Niall. She’s stroking the hair on the back of his neck, leaving tracks of icy heat behind the tips of her nails. “Do it, Brez, give it to me.”

He whimpers and drops his big head onto her shoulder as his hips snap forward. 

“C’mon,” repeats Niall, squeezing him into her again. “Show me what’s mine.”

Bressie’s vision whites out a bit. He’s gone, gone, gone until there’s just Niall, her gorgeous face contorted in a moan as he slips out of his control until he’s just driving into her again and again, always pulled back into her. He grabs her by the hips and fucks into her, desperately and with abandon. 

“Going to fill you up, Chief.” He pants out. “Gonna -- Christ, mine, you’re mine, Niall – I --”  
Bressie can see his fingers turning white with pressure where he’s gripping her rosy hips. He can feel Niall all over his body and around the edges of his scalp, blanking out all noise except the sound of the bed being forced against the wall, the sound of his body crashing into hers, the sound of her taking him in, all of it building up into the single point where there bodies are shoved together, a soundless roar of blood in his ears. 

He comes silently, shuddering and gasping into Niall’s neck in big ragged breaths, like he’s drowning, hips snapping out in four long, exquisite strokes. His ears are buzzing. Niall’s cradling his head in the circle of her arms, moaning softly as her slick pussy clenches around him in waves, coming right after. Bressie’s so oversensitive and he buries a soft cry in the tender flesh of Niall’s shoulder as she pulls his orgasm out, hips jerking against his where he’s collapsed over her. He can hear, as if from a long distance, her soft murmur of “mine, Brez, mine – yours.”

He doesn’t want to move out of her. He doesn’t want to lose the sensation of being lost in her, not knowing where they stop being connected. His arms feel like jelly as he tries to lever himself up off her. 

“No, ugh --” Niall mumbles, pulling at the wall of his shoulders. “No, don’t move.”

Her eyes are closed and she’s breathing through her nose in soft little whistles, her hair a golden halo spread out under her. She’s like the fucking sun. The bruises all over her chest and breasts are dappled, like horse spots. He shivers slightly as the cool air hits the sweat on his back. 

“Don’t want to squish you, darlin’,” he says, linking their fingers together.

“Nnnnn,” grunts Niall, “Want to be squished. Like a big fuckin’ pancake.” And then, a second later--

“Mmm, pancakes.”

Bressie lies back down on top of her, thought and consciousness seeping back into his body as his blood thrums through him. He can feel his smile spreading wide and goofy across his face. He can’t help laughing, exhausted bell-laughs that make their wedding bands clink gently as he runs his fingers along hers. Niall nuzzles his throat gently, hugging her legs around him like a monkey. He can feel the wide beam of her own smile against his throat, and pulls her head away so he can look at her. 

“What?” says Niall. Her smile is dimpled, blissed out, and open. He memorizes it. “What??” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Bressie says, reaching over to the nightstand to grab a packet of crisps. “Here, Chief, get your energy back.”

Niall’s face lights up and she pulls her arm out from under him to tear into the bag. She pokes a crisp into his face and he opens his mouth obediently, laughing and chewing and spilling crumbs on her. 

“Euuurgh,” Niall groans, pulling a disgusted face. Her blue eyes are twinkling. “How’re you going to find anyone to marry you with manners like that?”

His laugh rocks their bodies together, Niall’s face smug and perfect. 

“I dunno Chief, guess I’ll just have to con some poor eejit into it.”

Niall wipes her greasy hand off on the bed sheets and then cradles his face in her small hands, looking at him seriously. The claddagh heart points down towards her glowing body. 

“For what it’s worth, mate, I’d marry you in a heartbeat.”


End file.
